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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703640">an overwhelming sense of self-conciousness</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards'>clickingkeyboards</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Image, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hazel needs a hug, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, They get those hugs, so does alexander, supportive best friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 04:16:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,827</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “You don’t... believe my compliments yet.” </i>
</p><p>Hazel and Alexander are delighted with each other but not so happy with themselves. When Alexander voices his insecurities about how he looks in an uncertain letter, Hazel comes to realise that her own worries will not be laughed at after all. </p><p>
  <i>“No, not yet. I am trying.”</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Arcady/Hazel Wong, Daisy Wells &amp; Hazel Wong</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>an overwhelming sense of self-conciousness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyheartsclub_com/gifts">lonelyheartsclub_com</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritesEveryBlueMoon/gifts">WritesEveryBlueMoon</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Hazel,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am so glad that you finally heard from Ah Lan about how your family is doing, it must have been a huge relief. I do look forward to Rose coming to England, though I doubt that you’re willing to introduce me as your boyfriend. Not that I mind, of course. I don’t think that I’ll be telling my family for a long while. You’ve met my grandmother, so I think you can understand why. You’d love my grandma, though, I really would like for you to meet that side of my family. My grandma would probably bake you a large amount of cookies and teach you how to embroider cushions, but I think it would be excellent. She’s where I get my different coloured eyes from, and I swear that she can watch you with her green eye and read the newspaper with the other, it’s so weird. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t wait to see you on your Exeat weekend and I’m so glad that Daisy will be there too, it will be ripping good fun to be together again. George and I are taking bets on what crime we’re going to end up detecting, do you and Daisy want to join in?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On a slightly more serious note, I’ve been worrying recently. George told me that he thinks I’m being ridiculous, though he has tried to reassure me. It’s lovely but he can only reassure me of his good opinion of me, not of yours.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Simply put, I just cannot understand why you’re dating me. I look in a mirror and my arms are too long, my face is awkwardly-shaped and I stick out from my clothes at awkward angles, I can’t seem to keep a bit about me neat and tidy, and my face is awful and blotchy and red all the time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What I’m trying to say in this chaotic mess of a letter is that I simply cannot fathom how on earth somebody like you is interested in somebody like me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do tell me if I’m being idiotic about this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All my love,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alexander</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>P.S.: Our usual riddle! I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Alexander’s letter is a shock when put beside Daisy’s, which I have just finished writing a response to. Hers is all about her letters to Amina, how she has discovered that spinning around a room in circles when she is alone calms her down, a rant about the idiot she is being forced to work with and how he demeans her worth, and a collection of little deductions for the mystery that we are in the middle of detecting — a small one, trying to work out what on earth is going on with her brother acting so awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alexander’s letter is strange. I never believed that somebody like him could ever be self-conscious, think himself too skinny and too awkward and too tall. To me, it is impossible for someone so clearly handsome to feel that way about themselves. However, it is clear that I was mistaken. In the same way that the brilliant and clever Daisy has doubts about whether Amina truly cares for her and each one of her peculiarities, Alexander fears that I don’t like how he looks. But it runs deeper than that, and I know because I feel the same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is a sort of deep loathing in your bones for the way that your body looks in a mirror, and it cannot be wiped away with compliments, only dulled. Daisy does well at blunting that knife — “What a lovely dress, Hazel!” and, “You are just the right size, Watson, don’t be an idiot. You’re perfectly pretty,” and, “Alexander clearly adores you, Hazel. And so he damn well should.” — but I have never voiced my insecurities to Alexander.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time, I am not afraid that they will chase him away. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Alexander,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so looking forward to seeing you next week, I can’t wait! Daisy and I will absolutely join in on that bet, I’ve come to accept that we will doubtless run into some sort of trouble on each and every holiday no matter what. What exactly are you betting?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rose is discreet enough for me to introduce you as my boyfriend, but I’ll have to make sure that she keeps mum around May. She’s a chatterbox, as you know, and would doubtless tell my father. You would love my sisters’ mother, Jie-Jie, she’s very warm and kind. Daisy adores her, despite being slightly unnerved by her constant kindness. You know Daisy, she thinks that people who are nice to her have some ulterior motive. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The idea of meeting your family is daunting but exciting! I’d like to meet them in the future, on the condition that you are not out of earshot from me at any point — you know that I can’t defend myself against people that aren’t suspects. Your grandma sounds lovely and charming, I’d be honoured to meet the woman who gives you your deductive skill and your mismatched eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m rather unsure how to respond to your worries. I believe that they’re all utterly unfounded, of course, but I know that doesn’t help a jot. I have similar worries too, about myself and my body, and I know that one sentence cannot chase all that away. But I still want to say that I think you’re perfectly handsome and that you have absolutely nothing to worry about.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We can reassure each other, maybe?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>All my love,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hazel</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>P.S.: That was hard! I think that the answer is wind, but I had to consult Amina. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Daisy is trying desperately to not laugh at me, and is failing. Since she’s stopped having her peculiar mask on around me, she finds it utterly impossible to not show me what she’s really thinking. “Hazel, can you not worry yourself into a nervous breakdown?” she says with mock-severity. “Alexander and George are going to come here, you can… be alone with Alexander for a bit, and then we’ll all go out for ices and to the theatre.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her surprising awkwardness makes me giggle. I’ve been in agonies over the idea of Alexander and George visiting for ages, but it only hit me properly about an hour ago. We’re at Uncle Felix and Aunt Lucy’s flat, though they aren’t about, which is thrilling. Daisy and I can’t quite believe that they’ve trusted us to not explode the building, because Uncle Felix worries about us a lot. I think that it’s warranted while Daisy calls it ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hazel, you look perfectly fine,” she huffed. “Your skirt is lovely and so is your cardigan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. You look pretty too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoving me good-naturedly, she sparkles and says, “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> not the one impressing a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’re not!” I reply. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy laughs until she falls off her bed.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Someone raps the door knocker and Daisy flies to her feet before I can stumble up from the end of the bed, and I am breathing hard from my scramble to catch up with her. I am about to ask her for a second to tidy myself up when she flings the door open and reveals Alexander and George standing there, both rather giggly with Alexander shaking out a battered umbrella while George smooths down his hair, which is sticking up in interesting directions from the wind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hazel!” Alexander shouts when he sees me hovering behind Daisy, dropping the umbrella (on George’s foot, splattering his neat trousers with water) and rushing to hug me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy neatly steps to the side, laughing into her hand, and Alexander sweeps me up in an enormous hug. “Alexander!” I gasp, and it is very odd to be able to press myself close to him and hold him tight. “It’s so good to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From where I’m smothered in Alexander’s arms, I hear George and Daisy already affectionately ragging each other — as well as Alexander and I.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovesick, aren’t they?” George says warmly. “How </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Daisy replies. “How’s Lavinia?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is all peculiar when he says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” and Alexander, who is clearly half-listening to them too, muffles a laugh in my hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, he pulls away, leaning down to kiss my cheek. Feeling myself colour a blotchy red, I turn to the smiling George, who shakes my hand formally while winking at me. “Good to see you, Hazel. I hear that you’re joining in with our bet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are!” I say, smiling at him. “You’re making a bet out of the most dreadful thing, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s excellent fun,” he retorts, turning to look at Daisy and Alexander. Much to my astonishment, they have resumed their odd sort of friendship that I assumed was only for Fallingford, after the shock of Daisy’s survival. Their friendship has a new-shape, kindly bullying and full of peculiar jokes. It makes me feel warm from head to toe, that they truly get along now, and even George looks fond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy turns to George and winks at him. “Tea, Mister Mukherjee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a fit of boldness, I grab Alexander’s hand and, when Daisy and George have gone into the kitchen, talking of some true crime case, pull him down the hall towards the bedroom that I share with Daisy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” I breathe when the door shuts, suddenly at a loss for what to do and terribly short of bravery. “Um… sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he breathes from where he is pressed far closer to me than he has ever been before. “Can I kiss you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please.” It comes out gasping and pleading but he doesn’t seem to mind, slinging his arms around my shoulders and toying with my hair. I stand up on my toes and he leans down and kisses me frightfully fiercely, and I kiss him back as best I can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both pull away at the same time, dizzy and laughing and fizzing with happiness all over. “You’re an excellent detective </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>an excellent kisser, Hazel,” he teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I giggle and squeeze his hands, and I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the dresser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop laughing at once, falling silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can see the roundness of my face, blemishes flecked across my face like pockmarks, and the clumsy way that my body doesn’t seem to quite fit inside my clothes, my lips an odd colour from Alexander’s kiss. All at once, a cringe takes over my body, a pervading sense of, ‘There’s no way this is who I am.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hazel, what’s wrong?” Alexander asks me, and I can tell that he is thinking back to our letters, honest and upset and scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t… understand this. You. Us.” It comes out in stuttering bursts but he understands, and he smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are very pretty, you know,” Alexander says, and he reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You’re the most beautiful girl that I’ve ever seen in my life, by a long shot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His compliments made me blush and squirm but it is not all good feelings. Behind it all, there is an awful, cold, creeping feeling, and I manage to choke out, “Don’t tell lies to me. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would never lie to you.” He leans down and, when I nod and smile up at him, he kisses me. “Not ever. You are extremely pretty, Hazel. I think that I could write novels on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find myself pressing my face into his shoulder. It’s almost too much, to look up at his very blue eyes while he says such sweet things. As if I should not allow myself such an overwhelmingly good feeling. “I’m sorry. I can’t think of what to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can shut up if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that he says it so brazenly makes me giggle, and he starts laughing too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that you’re... handsome,” I say eventually. I am not looking at him, instead down at our linked hands. “I always have. When we were in Cambridge, when you were so happy to see me, I thought you so boyishly handsome that I could have died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, clearly embarrassed. “I am not... all that, Hazel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you are. Surely my opinion counts for something,” I try to tease, and it works because he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It counts for everything when it comes to romance.” He kisses my face, just beside my eye. “You don’t... believe my compliments yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a question because he knows. I answer anyway. “No, not yet. I am trying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sit down together on the edge of the bed, turned towards each other with our legs tucked up on the mattress, and I might melt from how intimate and grown-up it feels. “May I compliment you bit by bit, then?” he asks, taking one of my hands in his own and picking at the bedclothes with the other. “I mightn’t be very good at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m intrigued,” I say, and I try to be brave. My best friend says that I ought to let people be kind to me because it is true and I deserve it. Alexander helps me believe that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like your eyes,” he says softly. “I remember, when I met you, they were the first thing I noticed. They were dark, and curious, and ever-so lovely. Hey— can I?” I close my eyes and he leans down and — I can hardly believe it — kisses each of my eyelids in turn. I scrub at my damp eyes furiously when he pulls away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hazel, are you alright?” he asks, sounding close to frantic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m... overwhelmed. It’s different to be hearing it aloud.” He still looks concerned even after my reassurances, and so I squeeze his hand. “One day... one day, I’ll do this for you. I’ll say every compliment from our letters out loud, all at once, and I’ll be telling the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that, Hazel,” he says, and he is slightly tearful too. “I like… this is odd to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Alexander feels exceptionally awkward, he scrunches up his face while working out what to say. George often points it out, saying that he looks ‘frightful’. It’s not particularly pretty on the surface but I find it sweet nonetheless. Eventually, he says, “I like your body, I think that’s the only way to put it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I must look very wide-eyed and astonished because I feel like I’m going to burst; it seems impossible that he could be telling the truth, because I bulge all over in all the wrong places and I’m not at all thin or delicate like Beanie and Kitty, or particularly bosomed like Daisy or Lavinia. I’m shaped all wrong, and the fact that Alexander could </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>that is quite alien to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy tells me that I’m pretty rather a lot — “My pretty partner-in-crime!” she has taken to saying when I am showing off a new dress. “Alexander will be knocked off his feet!” — but it is different coming from Alexander. Somehow more real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… really?” I manage eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods earnestly. “Really! You’re…” He pulls an awkward face again. “Huggable, I suppose. Warm and solid, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty.” To emphasise his point, he puts his arms around my shoulders and hugs me, and I lean into him, feeling his fingers splay out over my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing. I’m only telling the truth,” he says with sparkling mismatched eyes. “Only, I can’t think why…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at his hands when he pulls back and I can imagine that the thoughts going through his head take on a similar pattern to the ones so often inside my own. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too thin, too thin, too thin. Awkward, skinny, alien, pale, blotchy. Too thin, too thin, too thin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> body,” I reply in a fit of boldness. “You’re… just right. You’re warm and pointed and you know… when you hug me, we fit together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks awkward, and almost upset despite his smile. Awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, he mumbles, “It’s… so different to hear compliments from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said that George had reassured you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s more advocating for my intelligence and personality, Hazel, both of our detectives are.” His tone is pointed but teasing, and I imagine George reassuring Alexander that he isn’t foolish or anything of the sort. It’s a sweet thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I chuckle. “To be fair, I think that he fell in love with Lavinia based on personality and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>realised that she has a face and fell in love with that too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Alexander bursts out laughing. “Oh, she has a face, what a shock,” he says in an excellent mockery of George’s voice, taking on his accent and the seriousness of his words despite the mirth making his eyes water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ridiculousness of the idea that I set him off imagining makes me laugh too, and we are both in fits of giggles and leaning against each other in a matter of moments. My laugh is a sort of wheezing gasp and Alexander’s is surprisingly different from the last time that I saw him — his voice has dropped </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so his laugh is a sort of sonorous sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When we calm down, he leans in and kisses my cheek. “I love your laugh, too. It’s really </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> happy. You sound like you’re going to burst from how happy you are, I love it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile and duck down my head, and I convince myself, just a little bit, that he means it. “Thank you. Your laugh is lovely too. But I do have a question: does your voice really just keep on dropping? When does it stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hazel!” he says in surprise, laughing. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t know, it makes sense. Probably in a year or two. You luckily missed the point where my voice was all squeaky. George’s voice dropped early, but when we were twelve, he had a voice like a flute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t imagine that!” I say, trying to imagine George with anything but his confident and rolling tones. “I like your voice, and I imagine that I would have liked it before too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face is pinkish and embarrassed and he blurts out in a fluster, “Another thing! I… I really love your hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it covers my face.” It is out of my mouth before I realise I’ve said it, that belittling and upsetting and </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> sentence there for him to hear, and Alexander frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches up to tuck his hand under my chin, and looks down at me with enormously concerned eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Hazel.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and says, with complete conviction, “That’s not the reason, you silly thing. I think you look wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not anymore, please,” I say, and I close my eyes so that I cannot see his worried look. “It is hard to believe that somebody likes me this much, and I cannot hear it all at once just yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am afraid that he will be annoyed or exasperated but when I open my eyes again, I find that he is smiling. “May I kiss you instead?”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>What feels that hours later, we are interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. “Not to interrupt whatever you’re doing in there, Alex,” George says, amusement clear in his voice, “but Felix and Lucy just called to say that they will be back here in ten minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of us grow wide-eyed, our shocked exclamations making George burst out laughing. “Alright, you idiots. Get decent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His footsteps retreat back down the hall and I am forced to acknowledge our current position, myself halfway into Alexander’s lap and his hand on my chest, another on my waist, his shirt rumbled and his hair askew. “I’m sorry,” he says, sheepishly avoiding my gaze, and I feel myself bubbling with happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s alright,” I reply, leaning down to kiss him when he nods to say that I can. “We ought to neaten up, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a shame.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches my eye and smiles, and I feel like I could fly. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Daisy gives me A Look when we rush into the dining room, rumpled and flustered, and I can tell that she wants to know why I am so very happy. Anxiously, I take her by her hand and lead her over to the side of the room, and then I whisper to her all that happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alexander,” Daisy says severely, and I gulp, “is so terribly perfect for you that I fear you might be soulmates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stare at Daisy, completely dumbfounded. I have never heard her praise anybody in the world so fiercely apart from me. “I— really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Romantic soulmates,” I correct before I can think about it. “You’re my... platonic soulmate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a sap, Hazel Wong,” Daisy mumbles as she pulls me into a hug, like she isn’t crying herself. “I’m glad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she releases me, I wipe my eyes and try not to notice as she does the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To our right, Alexander and George seem to be affectionately pretending to murder each other. When I voice this to Daisy, she informs me that it’s called ‘play fighting’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dogs do it,” she says. “So do boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I snort a laugh. “You’re… peculiar, Daisy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gladly. Now, let’s pretend to be ordinary.” Turning to the boys, she says, “Alexander, your top buttons are all wrong and your hair is…” Unable to find the words, she makes the universal gesture for ‘all over the place’ and George sets about neatening it for him. He had to stand up on his toes to do so, which Daisy points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes a rude gesture at her and then grins. “Come on, let’s sit down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Uncle Felix and Aunt Lucy walk in, we are drinking tea and discussing a case from George’s book of true crime, and nothing is out of the ordinary. It feels as if we are back in last Easter, meeting for Daisy’s birthday with none of the events of the past year affecting us at all. Except for one, that is, the one that is the reason for Alexander’s hand in my own, interlinked atop the table, and the way that he sparkles at me when Daisy and George aren’t looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Hazel,” Alexander mumbles under his breath, and I turn to look at him. His face is coloured red, flushed in pre-emptive embarrassment, and I edge closer to listen. “I wanted to say… thank you. Really. I feel as if… as if I’m actually likeable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you are!” I reply, much louder than intended. Daisy and George begin talking louder to drown us out, giving us privacy made from a wall of their words. “You’re… wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans over to kiss my cheek. “You’re pretty wonderful yourself, Hazel Wong.”</span>
</p>
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